Yep, I’ll just follow him: Japan

 I’ll admit it.

I have no sense of direction so, if forced to travel solo,

Which I am not, in this foreign country with three alphabets, densely populated, with train stations that could 

Contain small cities, this country of Japan,

I would have resorted to lengthy study of physical maps, the ones you can’t even buy anymore,  to imprint the concept of the place into my mind. 

I would have marked every landmark in yellow, and 

Traced my routes in red.  In this day of Google Maps 

And YouTube,  I instead studied videos of people buying 

Tickets to get from Narita Airport to Tokyo Station,  to get an idea of the terrain, and quickly recognized that I would

Have to trust in my abilities once on the ground. 

Yet, once here, I relinquished my agency to my companion, he being so more confident, even in his mistakes, that I often followed him like child, feeling rather pathetic, 

 But also liberated from the task of navigation. 

Instead I could take in the view, the chaotic blur of 

Constant movement, or the peaceful Zen of the gardens.

Finding peace in Kyoto. Wake early.

Finding peace in Kyoto.  Wake early. 

It’s what the French tourist in the packed restaurant advised me, over the hubbub of voices, the Australians

And the English, the Koreans and the Americans,

The sun rises early. Get up.

The empty bus and quiet streets greeted us, 

Instead of teeming hordes of tourists in the temple,

Monks hurried past us, their slippers shuffling along 

The polished wooden flooring. 

Only the birds chattered in treetops, 

Rocks carefully arranged in moss and raked gravel

Tell stories of a mother tiger and her cubs 

Playing alongside a stream.

You will be glad you did.

 

They dress better in Kyoto but what did the Emperor do all day?

She looked refreshingly elegant in her long skirt, jacket and boots as we exited the train station.

They dress better in Kyoto, we have left the drab utilitarianism of Hiroshima behind us.

Our host told me that people in Hiroshima after the war were viewed with suspicion,

The fear they carried radiation on their bodies; some 80 years later has this fear settled 

Into the clothing choices of the people that live there.

I have to wonder, it is so striking.

I detest Trump, and his plans for ballrooms and arches, but

 I do admire the extravagant palaces that the Emperors built in Japan,

Impossible to understand the need for so many empty rooms for hosting messengers, visiting dignitaries,

Royal families, and who knows who else, ridiculous even, but impressive.

We just don't build this sort of structure anymore; the public would be outraged.

Paintings of tigers, eagles, chrysanthemums and all manner of flora and fauna adorn the walls,

Tatami mats cover the floors, but I miss the glitter and extravagance of Versailles, 

The mirrors and furniture which tell me what may have gone on there, and besides,

The movies that we can watch about Louis XIV and his court.  

What did the Emperor and his ilk do all day in those beautiful, but empty, spaces?

Maybe we can never really know.  Like most things in life. 

 

 

Smiling buddhas on an Island near Hiroshima

 

A second day in Hiroshima, 

a short boat ride to a nearby island where

Hundreds of red-capped Buddhas smiled at us.

the jostling crowds in

Nearby shops and restaurants attest to the 

Urgency of life, regardless of past losses,

Of ice cream cones and sushi, glittering souvenirs,

I can’t help but smile at the three dads sitting together,

Each sporting a sleepy baby in a Snugli, 

Laughing together, young fathers having enjoyed 

Their day in the sunshine. Returning to

downtown Hiroshima, the vibe is business, the cityscape 

Cement and glass skyscrapers, the people rushing by,

On their way to the future

That awaits us all. 

Hiroshima

We, the hordes of visitors in the Museum at Hiroshima. 

know that the faces gazing back at us from the screen, 

were burned beyond recognition

In that terrible moment.  

We see the gnarled remains of a tricycle, the helmet which still held the skull of

A child who seconds before was perhaps laughing with joy,

We see the shadow on the cement stoop where a body had been vaporized,

The shredded clothing that hung from oozing bodies.

Huge panoramas of Hiroshima, a city buzzing with life, before

This terrible moment,

And after, a flat, grey landscape of destruction

Punctuated by the skeletal remains of the Prefecture, a magnificent dome,

Still beautiful in its austerity, its insistence on our attention. 

The gentle patter of the raindrops on our raised umbrellas,

As if tears from heaven were joining the ones 

Streaming down our cheeks. 

 

おはようございます - Good morning!

 Yes, I was worried alright.

The "Learning Japanese the Easy Way" book did not ease my fears.

The introductory language videos start with introducing the three sets of characters;

Some 300+ Chinese type symbols and two other sets....

I was discouraged from even getting past the first 10 minutes.

But we learned that

おはようございます "good morning" with a smile did wonders, as did

美味しかった "That was delicious" after a wonderful meal!

we muddle through, with the Japanese providing English on some signs,

And its amazing how much you can converse with Google Translate

(And yes, I tell our new friends that we detest Trump),

In the rare cases where someone speaks some English, we learn

About them and their children (all in big towns or abroad, one daughter

Working for Google in Tokyo), (none of their children wanting to

Take over the family business),

Little by little we learn a word or two, a character or two,

Like "Exit" or the name of the bus so we get on the right one

(Just look for the bus that arrives at the correct time, we are advised).

The greatest thrill is when the quiet Japanese person sitting next to you

At the counter turns to you, smiles and says, or write, Where you from?"

And we go from there.

Following the blue line to arrive at Imabari, Japan

Let there be no doubt that Japan is a world-class ship building nation,

Finally recognizing that those cranes are not for unloading ships, but for building them.

Let there be no doubt that Japan is a manufacturing nation, having decided after WWII

That they will win on the economic stage, that they will create a nation that moves,

On bullet trains, buses, bikes, and walking, leaving small spaces for tiny cars

(So cute!)

Let there be no doubt that Japan can build bridges, longer than I have ever seen,

That when there is a will, there is a way, yes, to build winding paths that allow

Recreational cyclists to climb to the entrances of these bridges, 

Let there be no doubt that America has much to learn from Japan, 

Although we provided the funds after WWII to rebuild (after destroying her),

She made the wise decisions to become what she is today,

A formidable and beautiful country, an admirable people,

And the blue line?

We followed it on our bikes for three days, from island to island,

Across bridges, along peaceful coastlines, through ship building zones,

Passing shrines, and countless 7-Elevens, to arrive here

At Imabari, where we will take a bus and train to Hiroshima.

Up next!

 

A traditional Japanese Ryokan - tatami mats, robes, futons, onsen and yummy food!

I wonder if we can arrange our house like this, soft filtered light,

Slippers, neatly stacked futons and blankets to roll out at nighttime.

Hot tea and enameled tea cups beckon at the low table, the chairs 

On the ground are supportive and comfortable, elegantly designed.

Before a midday rest, we ease ourselves into the hot pools (onsen)

Punctuated with a brisk rinse with cold water and a re-immersion.  

The nervous system relaxes.

Careful to place the left side of the robe over right (we are not dead yet),

We shuffle in our house slippers down to a sumptuous dinner, almost

Too beautifully arranged to eat, yet we do, consuming all of it,

The sashimi, broiled fish, rice, and yes, the octopus, which I abhor killing,

Has already given its life...and so I savor its flesh, thanking it for its sacrifice.

Elegant in its simplicity, a delightful reminder of the ease of being close

To the ground.  

 

Bridges, boats and biking in Japan

 

The mountains rise directly from

A crystal clear sea, a small fishing boat bobs nearby,

Statuesque cranes tower on the adjacent shore.

Suspension bridges rivaling the Golden Gate connect

Small towns on opposite shores, our electric bikes 

Whisk us up from the shore, climbing ever higher to join 

The crossing traffic, then dropping us back down on 

Sinuous paths covered in cherry blossoms,

I send a prayer to the skies as I speed past a shrine, 

To honor those who are no longer with us, 

In gratitude for this beautiful day, this beautiful life. 

 

Observations - small and large

 Despite the long line to board the train, the many departing the train, the Westerners lugging large suitcases, the train will depart in 2 minutes.

How clever for the top of the toilet tank to double as a hand washing station during flushing.

The granola chunks tantalizing me in the shop were nut covered fried chicken chunks and the donut was filled with noodles.

The flooded fields abut the tended flower gardens of the immaculate homes.

The fog rests on the landscape like a soft white blanket. 

The eye’s desire vastly overestimates the stomach’s capacity. 

Sure, we'll have that, too ....not!

We perused the menu, reading down through the 14 choices of grilling meats

And settled on three, bypassing the opportunity for grilling pig womb, or tracheal rings,

And passing on the delicacy of rumen (look it up) or large intestine.

Flashbacks to childhood of staring down a cows tongue, taste buds included (!)

On our dinner table, the stern look of my father demanding that we place tongue

Against tongue, served cold, yet more daunting.

Sure, we'll have that, too, has its limits at fish eyes and pigs feet,

While heartily applauding the Japanese!

 

No escape from Trump in Kanazawa, Japan

I heard his voice in the restaurant, berating the Japanese

For their lack of participation in his war of death and destruction.  

The two elderly Japanese seated adjacent to us

Were watching him, listening to him berate them,

The serious looks on their faces revealed nothing

But distress surely showed on my face.

I saw his face in the Japanese newspaper, on the front page,

Criticizing the Japanese people for their lack of

Participation in his illegal and unethical war,

The newspaper was on the table next to 

Our beautifully arranged plates of sashimi 

Prepared with care and attention by the Japanese

Chef behind the counter.  

We were the only Americans in these two small

Restaurants, and we feel deep shame at the 

Actions of our government, the words of 

Our President, who damages everything

His words and actions touch.

In these times, I am not proud to be an

American.

 

Finding poetry in Kanawaza, Japan

Of note

That some of them write clearly, so Google Translate can reveal their poetry

And others, a cursive not unlike my own that will never reveal to a Westerner

Their hidden wisdom, 

Of note 

That several poets wrote this one trove of sage advice

How many Americans poets can share their moment in the limelight

Even when the light is so dim as to be non-existent

Of note

Is that saying "All of you are true in your heart" but 

Followed by "the truth of the matter is that the work is not done

In the name of wisdom, goodness and diligence"

Two different opinions adjacent to one another

Peacefully.

Yesterday,

I learned eight reasons why Japan is so peaceful, clean

And the trains run on time.

Kaizen, Ikigai, Hara Hachi Bu and the others

But let us start with every day with the intent to 

Make the world 1% better, finding a reason for living,

Forest bathing and endure with dignity.  

What happened to our country

In its quest for power and money?

We have no trains, litter is everywhere,

We are rude and barbaric, 

We have lost our souls

In America. 

 

Sumo wrestler turned restauranteur in Kanazawa, Japan

Wait, wait a minute, that face in front of me, the guy, the cook,

That's his face up on the TV, sumo wrestling, yep, that's him, check, double check.

Ahah, that's him on the posters on the wall in his ...what do they call that

Skimpy little outfit that barely covers their enormous bulk.

The outfit whose sole purpose is to hold the jewels and provide a grabbing 

Strap for their opponent, so we can watch, in fascination, the ripple of their bare 

Flesh as they barrel into each other, one heaving the other off the small platform

Onto the laps of the adoring crowd.

Wait, wait a minute, I would not want to be sitting right next to the ring

Where it's possible that a 300 pound man, skimpily clad, likely slippery,

Might fall on top of me.  I place myself back in my seat at the restaurant counter,

The restaurant that has room for eight, maybe ten.  

While slurping sumptuous ramen noodles in a fish broth, I could not stop

Moving my gaze from the screen, to the man in front of me, the cook and owner,

In a back and forth, kind of a disbelief, but why not, after all.

This is Japan, the land of the sumo wrestler, the land of Ramen.  

 

You can never experience this with Google Maps, honoring the dead in Tokyo, Japan

It's hard to tell on a Google map what a place really is, how it feels,

Who is there, what they are doing and so we go to see for ourselves.

We go to read, to learn and to explore, and to respect their grief, their losses,

In spite of our own, in addition to our own, we see the Japanese bowing 

At the entrance to the shrine which holds the spirits of all those who have died 

In war, protecting their country, their people. 

We watch them, and do the same, bowing at the entrance, and clapping twice,

Before turning away.  There is no one clapping on Google Maps.  

there is no one walking away, then suddenly turning back to face the shrine

Again, and again, under the gateway that reaches hundreds of feet into the sky,

Bowing, or to tell us that people are mourning their losses in the building over there,

The one that says "serious prayer only", no, gaggles of tourists are not welcome there.

Google maps does not show the etched lithograph of a photograph of Tokyo after 

300 B2 bombers flattened the area, the area where we were standing yesterday.

So, to those who say that travel is not needed anymore, that there are no surprises,

Google Maps can never show humanity, our tears, our joy, those standing to honor their

Dead, grieving their dead, and moments later celebrating today, chocolate ice cream dribbling

Down the chin of the small girl as she grips the leg of her mother. 

 

Peace among the cherry blossoms

Was it the rain or the falling cherry blossoms tap tapping

How many colors of pink flooded into my eyes (my soul) seeking 

The gentleness of a cloudy, cool day in Tokyo, 

A city where steel towers overlook colorful clusters of umbrellas

And crowds murmur as they gaze upward, shuffling carefully 

Along glistening paths and bridges that seem to bow before such beauty

The ponds dance in the rain, a percussion of droplets falling into 

And bouncing up, the clouds gather and release them this 

Cloudy day in Tokyo, this day come and now gone,

My cheeks already drying in the sun.  

 

The food! The food! Eating in Tokyo, Japan

She welcomed us in to her tiny cafe, behind a curtain,

Behind the wizened man selling tourist trinkets to passersby,

One other couple at one of the four tables and us,

A menu for breakfast, a hard boiled egg, some impossibly delicious

Soft grilled bread cut into rectangles the precise size to wrap the egg,

Steaming coffee and a small cream on the side, for 600 yen

(That's $3), 

But it's the feel of the place, the peaceful yet warm and welcoming

Tiny little place, and how do they manage to keep afloat with so few

Of us maybe wandering behind the curtain,

I'd wander there every day, yet there are thousands of them,

Like the one called La Beauté, where we found ourselves 

At night, us alone with the restauranteur, (watching in fascination

The bowing ritual amongst the clientele having just exited the

Restaurant below), and this one, 5 tables and us basking in

His attentions between chopping and broken friendly English 

(And yes, he is planning to travel to Mexico City and Bolivia for 9 days,

And no, he does not speak any Spanish either, he smiles)

And the food! The food! 

The art of the vegetable arrangement on a platter, each then to be placed

Into a boiling hot pot of tomato elixir on one side, basil on the other,

To magically create in front of us a succulent feast.

And it's all for us, no rush, just smiles, delight, peace,

This is no flash in the pan restaurant, 17 years in, 

How do they do it, the simplicity, the grace and yes,

The food!!  

 

Hanging by a thread in Tokyo, Japan

He's hanging by a thread, dangling, swinging

Squeegee in hand, gracefully, so delicately pressing 

Against the windows so impossibly high, so far from the teeming

Street scene, I watch in fascination and disbelief

From where does this thread hang, such a tiny bracket secured

To the rooftop, and yet

He seems so serene, as if dancing in flight was 

All in a days work, or maybe not even a days work,

But a days pleasure to be free of earthly troubles, suspended

Aloft, above all the troubles and grime of life.

He's free. 

 

No more stumbling in the dark

I'd thought about this new path on the west side of the house

Next to the blackberry brambles that insist on growing east, lazily east

Over the river rock path that has steadily sunk, unevenly, into the dirt,

Threatening to break the ankles of the elderly in the darkness of night.

I'd thought about this new path but was waiting for the right person to show up

On a spring day, or maybe fall could work, or summer, the one who understands

The old and infirm, the vagaries of an old house that endured the indignity of 

The flood in 1894, someone who would be just the right person.

The years drifted by and the stone path became yet another bed of weeds,

The stones yet more uneven and I waited for the right person who did not 

Flinch at lifting out all the old stones and laying even flagstone, tightly 

Spaced to keep out the weeds. 

One day he appeared, his wizened face framed by wiry black hair, someone

From the South, from Peru,  he appeared at my front gate and said he 

Could do the job, in spite of his old bones, he could make a new path

On the west side of this old house, that knew floods, hail storms and fallen trees.

I'd thought of this path for so many years, one that I could walk along, at night, 

without stumbling, a small reassurance in these unsteady times.

 

A moment of peace

I'll take it

While they are busy in that exact moment of peace accords

Of concentration while assembling airports with parking garages,

In agreement on design and execution,

I'll take that moment in the shade, one leg up, a French novel

On my Kindle, only the stress of having to look up so many words.

I'll take it, 

A moment to capture when I was happy to be there,

A break from frustration and boredom, a moment of happiness even,

Of appreciation in the sharing of these lives,

Of a 3 year old and a 6 year old, a letting go of

The grumpiness of old age and inflexibility,

It's good for me

 

Hanging on for dear life

I'd say that I was hanging on for dear life,

Even though it appears that she is lightly swaying from left to right,

Gently gliding along the rail,

Yes, it's me, hanging on for dear life, fighting fatigue from my roles

As cook, playmate, human jungle gym and arbiter between

Two small, but determined siblings who want the same

Thing NOW, and seem to know how to throw a punch. 

I'm hanging on for dear life

And it's only day two,

Only two badly slept nights, but time also 

Counted by number of crochet stitches to make a necklace, bracelet and ring

For this beautiful girl,

Time only spent once at these ages where nothing matters but

A blue sky, a sunny day, a full belly, lots of love and plenty of toys.

In two nights, I will sleep like a log, and will wake up missing

These two little monsters, um, angels because

She will never hang from that bar again

In exactly the same way, never

Glide from left to right

Wearing that same smile. 

 

The Journaling Class at the Age West Senior Center

 Some entered the room with walkers, others still with a bounce in their step,

We assembled around three large laminate tables, the ones with the folding legs,

We are of the age where we carry a spiral bound notebook to make notes along the way,

This is how memories are stored. 

George always begins the session, casting a spell of writing magic upon us all as

He circles the table.  

Carol sings a little song and plays guitar and everyone shares a bit of their latest

Adventures, those that are not too gay, of deaths, divorce, but yet a sunny day and a visit from a 

Grandchild.  

We are of the age of truths, not deception.  There is no Instagram in that room, 

Only Ann talks much longer than the unspoken limit on sharing news.

We wait with an outward patience that comes to us of a certain age.  

After a short discussion to generate promising prompts,

Jackie sets the timer to 20 minutes and the writing begins!  

We may write to exorcise the thoughts which keep us up at night, 

Or write to an interesting prompt, or maybe to memorialize the deepest 

Grief or a profound happiness, maybe the way the sunlight filters through 

The tree canopy or what happened before, what is yet to happen, our fears

And hopes, maybe we just start writing and upon rereading, we learn more

About ourselves.

And when the timer rings, we go around the room and Ann and George, 

Jackie and Carol, and all the others, maybe read what they have written.

George closes the circle, by walking his lanky frame around the table,

Casting a spell to carry us back into the outside world. 

Ann raises up to leave with her walker, I walk out to my bicycle

And the world spins, each adventure a new word waiting to be written. 

Thinking of biking in Tokyo

Somehow

The idea of rolling along Tokyo streets

By bike relaxes the stress of travel planning, the endless viewing

Of videos advising on ALL THE ZILLIONS OF COOL THINGS TO DO    

In Tokyo and I want to see them all and my stomach tightens

And my brain is crunching through all the possibilities.

Everyone is going to Japan and the roar of the trains and

The crush of the crowds edging their way to 

See this or that at close range seems daunting

But a bike!  The videos of people

Biking along quiet side roads, or 

A path along a busy highway,

Along the riverbank, the wind

Cooling my cheek, my own 

Little universe.

 

Playing music to our future selves

We are so young in this room, regardless of my salt and pepper hair,

They are all grey, balding, bent over, but .....there, in their chairs,

Waiting for to listen to our music.  

They were all there, alert and attentive, our future selves

In a few years, when it's not so easy to bike home

From an evening out with friends.

(Like I did tonight after watching The Rebel with A Clause)

I'm not ready yet to be their age, but I expose myself a bit at a time

Because one day I may be in that chair listening to some younger

People come play music for me, when I can no longer ride my 

Bike out for an evening with friends.

I'm not ready yet.

 

Open: A sign at the restaurant at the beach in Tulum

The top left part of the symbol on the left is a

Gate, the gate that opens your heart if you let it,

If the waves on the open sea stretching towards an infinite horizon

Cannot do it, perhaps the silky sand under your feet, 

Or the beauty of the carefully prepared fish on your plate,

The heavens loaded in stars and galaxies just waiting for your gaze 

To turn towards them, even unnamed, they are beautiful

And remember that we are all made of star dust.  

The small Japanese book sits at home, on the pink dinette

Where I have watched so many small birds pecking at the feeder,

The book that taught me the symbol for gate, the three alphabets

Necessary to understand Japanese, the words that I will never 

Learn, but will always revel in their magic.

 

Will I ever play like this

I was telling my teacher about the cereal aisle at Safeway 

But that one does have a beginning and an end, and what if it were infinite

And I have to choose a box of cereal, the colors and flavors, the promises of knowledge

And experiences shimmer in front of my eyes, I am paralyzed

By possibility, and so is this my way in life, in music, in French, in

Every step I take forward, or back, yet a paralysis of the boredom from 

The anguish of not/or/and choosing the right notes to go with that backing track.

I could not read his gaze but it scared me.

Oh, the cereal aisle - my daughter insists on GrapeNuts when she visits,

That will do or maybe, or maybe

Or maybe, oh, that one, 

As I dutifully wrote the three exercises for piano that I would dutifully execute

Every day, the Hanon finger exercises and then the CGC sequence in the left hand

At the same time and I won't allow myself that freedom/that curse to decide in each moment

What to do and my nervous system will thank me until I am stronger and 

Then I'll be able to walk some of the cereal aisle of life, feeling the strength of my legs,

The clarity of my eyesight and be secure in this dazzling life

Maybe for the first time.  

 

The landscape of the Mind

My landscape tends to cloudy and morose, facing into the wind

Cheeks chilled by sea spray, the world is mostly grey with skittering clouds.

I stared at this landscape at the museum, immersed in its stark beauty, noting how 

Many shades of grey, of brown, I walked into the frame and stood there next to 

The two women, all three of us still as statues, painted figures in a landscape 

That could easily draw frozen tears or grimaces that we can't see from outside.

Yet, perhaps we are all smiling at the movement of the clouds and the sea, I could 

Not see my own face, curiously, as I walked out of the frame

I turned to my companion and asked her about her mind landscape.

We live in different worlds and I'll have to ask her if she entered a painting 

That afternoon and what she discovered while there.  

There is an opening in that sky.